The Fates
by NoteEmmy
Summary: Set watches the slow descent of death upon Atem's shoulders and resolves to do something about it.


The moment of a child's first marked cries in the world signaled the slow descent into death. Seconds ticked away over long years. No matter circumstance or place, all would eventually walk through the doors of the afterlife and serve judgement. What one did with their life was entirely up to them. Strength was reserved for no one but only great few wielded it in powerful ways. All would die, and were dying-

But none died during life so quickly, Set had observed, as his Pharaoh was once ascended to the throne.

The weight of Egypt and her people had sunk so squarely into his shoulders, it was as if the weight of the entire world itself was being carried upon him. The crown he bore was not only gold and metal and intricate carving, but the entirety of all hearts and names everywhere. And where his own had become so precious little, he became the righteous upholder that everyone expected him to be.

Pharaoh Atem was a magnificent leader- though he had little actual expertise, and everyone remaining from his father's time knew he had studied little when he could get away with it. But once the burden of gold and power had been put on him, he rose like a beautiful, fiery bird. A God, even. He was strong. Powerful. Cunning. Just. Every bit the leader his father would have been proud to see.

And every day he exercised those traits, his life drained out of him in visible thick streams to those who were paying attention. Gone into the air with twisting spirals, up to the skies. Set realized that no one save him was actually looking. He knew this because no one felt as panicked as he did, though tightly controlled as he knew he must be, watching Atem's flower wilt every day. More. The petals were falling and no one was doing anything.

Was it that no one could do anything? He himself was perpetrator to this crime. He saw it and he could not act. He knew not what to do. What could be done. Maybe he thought of himself too highly. Too in tune with his Pharaoh that only he could see. But if that were the case, if only him, should it not be him that raised his hand up to help? He wondered this many nights. Many long nights that he knew his Pharaoh was still awake. He could hear him pacing. Mumbling to himself. Fading away faster and faster. He was exhausting every bit of his life force, and Set knew soon he would have to do something. To not act would be aiding in murder.

The day came when he was only half paying attention to the goings on in the throne room. He was more focused on Atem. And Atem's focus was all but gone. The once gorgeous, bright red eyes were dull. Dimming with each moment that passed. His eyes had lowered a long while ago. It was clear that he wasn't listening. His elbow had propped up on the arm of his throne, hand touching his face. No doubt a feeble attempt to keep himself awake. The backs of his fingers brushed over his lips.

Then he gave up, resting his cheek on the back of his fingers. If anyone were truly paying attention they might have labeled him careless. Heartless. Cruel. He looked like he was very uninterested in what his kingdom had to say. The Court could handle it. They most often did. He was certainly not just a figurehead, but he had his people picked specifically for their areas of skills. So they could handle it. And he needed only be there to calm. To talk when necessary- as it should be. His efforts shouldn't have been wasted on the poor and ill mannered.

Set watched as his eyes grew even more tired. And then finally, they lowered. A peaceful glow washed over his Pharaoh, and his heart both eased and clenched at the same time. How could no one be noticing this? This poor man, no longer a God. He needed help.

The scene grew even more painful when he leaned a bit too much and sat straight up when shaken from the mere seconds of sleep he'd grasped at. Panicked. Eyes darting around. It was a quiet motion, nothing that no one would notice. It seemed Atem was skilled at this, too. For reasons Set didn't want to think about. And he watched as Atem swallowed hard, before lightly touching the cold metal of his crown. Pushing at it. Then raising his hand along the stray bangs he'd loosed with his sudden movements, sweeping them back into place.

His Pharaoh had grown pitiful. Pathetic. And in every sense of the word, heartbreaking. Set could barely look at him now. It was painful. Truly hurtful. Not only because Egypt deserved a vibrant and alert ruler, but because Atem deserved that better life, too. No one deserved what he could see his King going through. Especially not Atem.

As the minutes trickled by he just watched Atem settle into his throne. Hands down against the rests. Nothing to help him fall asleep. Straight as a rod. Holding himself forcibly. But his eyes were gone, with them, Set supposed, his thoughts. The color was faded and dark. His heart wrenched, as if someone had reached into his ribcage and squeezed it.

Couldn't anyone see?

Wouldn't anyone help him?

He hadn't expected his prayers to be answered in such a sinister form, but at this point he had no choice but to accept.

Set witnessed a shadow slow approaching along the right side of the balcony. This would not mark the first time someone made an attempt on Atem's life. It would probably not be the last, either. But for now, it was the most perfect thing Set witnessed. Because when he moved to protect his Pharaoh, and his angry stare was on that of the assassin, everyone else looked up, too. A demon most foul jumping forth, weak as it was, and claiming attack. And it gave him enough time to grab his rod from his belt and in one quick backhand motion strike Atem in the back of the head.

His King gasped in pain, utter surprise. And that same sense of panic. Eyes wide before forcibly shut and he slumped forward. Screams began. The guards were quick then, downing the criminal to his knees. The black blob he'd unleashed was easily destroyed. And Set was quick, too. The Rod went back to its resting place in his belt and he knelt to pick Atem up into his arms.

He was light, which was no surprise. Set was so much larger than he. But he felt astoundingly empty. Light not because he was small, but because little remained inside. And he didn't have enough time to feel the pangs of regret and sadness, and guilt for what he'd done and the reason he'd had to do it. People were screaming. Screaming for their Pharaoh. Screaming to him.

He had to assure them. Keep his calm. All was fine. The Pharaoh would be fine. He'd just taken one hit. Just one. All he needed was to sleep it off. And his so called Court needed to pray for forgiveness for letting such a thing happen. Were they not there to protect their King? He felt little remorse for their shame. This was their fault. All of them.

Including him.

But he was making it right. Even with black methods, the intentions were whole. With that in mind he made his way up to Atem's chambers and shooed away the healers, and the rest of the Pharaoh's annoying onlookers, so that he could sit. And watch. And make sure Atem got every last bit of rest he deserved. Set would not let him die. Not like this.

He would not watch it any longer. He would not stand for it.

But even this was not peaceful. In the deep realms of sleep he could see his Pharaoh struggling. Set, if not a stronger man, would have been broken to tears. Did his King not deserve one rest? A few moments of peace? Was this his fate? The path the Gods had chosen for him? How cruel.

He frowned even deeper when Atem gripped at his bedsheets. Tightly. So tight. His face contorting in pain. What could he do then? His plan had not worked, and he'd sent Atem even further into madness and hurt. He'd failed Atem.

Set leaned, reaching to unearth the crown that had no doubt made a dent in Atem's head by now. It was almost astonishing how easy it was to remove. And he carefully moved him, up enough to get the puzzle off of him. And only then Atem seemed to ease, just a little. Without the burden of heavy gold on him. He was just a man, once. A long time ago.

Without thinking he took one of Atem's hands in his. Smoothed out the creases, eased the fingers back from their white-knuckled grip. He brushed his lips along the back. And he just held him. Watching on in hollow heartbreak.

He would never know. Never understand. What the Gods had in store for this soul...

Was it truly so horrible?


End file.
